]]>A Channel 4 News investigation finds that unwanted kids are listed on the Facebook group, and other online forums and websites, when their American parents decide that they no longer want them or are unable to care from them. Hundreds of parents travel from the United States to Ethiopia every year to adopt kids, with 250,000 kids adopted to the US from overseas since 2000.

‘You’ve just got to put it out there’ Andrea Gaines lives in Virginia, US, and has adopted four kids from Ethiopia. Three of them are thriving and happy. But but one of her children Biruk developed behavioural issues that have impacted the whole family.

“He starting talking about wanting to kill himself, really hurting himself, banging himself against walls, he would run up and down the street talking nonsense and babbling … just being uncontrollable.” Andrea said she exhausted all avenues for seeking psychological help for Biruk, and was worried for the safety of her other children, and so she turned to a Facebook group to find him a new family who could better cope or where he might be happier.

She defended listing him on the site; “Just posting and saying ‘Hey do you want my kids?’ I don’t think that’s appropriate but you know sometimes when you’re desperate and looking for somebody who might be the right person for your child – sometimes you’ve just got to put it out there,” she said. Two people responded to Andrea’s message and offered Biruk a trial period.

Andrea said that she would only hand over a child in the right circumstances. Part of Andrea’s listing of her child online explained her “desperate search”, and explained his emotional difficulties, but also said “great at soccer and super charming when he’s in a good mood.” Andrea says that parents in the United States get a lack of support from the authorities and social services and that this played a large role in her choice to turn to Facebook for support and help.

So far 260 families have signed up to the private and hidden group. These sort of private adoptions are frequently done without any oversight from social services. Disruption The children are listed on the Facebook group “Adopting through Disruption”, with disruption being the term for the process of dissolving an adoption. Facebook told Channel 4 News they would remove the group following our investigation.

“Safety is very important to us and we have a clear set of guidelines which outline what is and isn’t acceptable on the site. After investigation we have removed the group for breaking our Community Standards,” a spokesperson explained. Biruk is one of ten children listed on Facebook who were initially adopted to the United States from various countries.

In some states parents can sign over guardianship for a child by signing a piece of paper – a power of attorney document – authorised by a notary. This is seen as a quicker and easier system than a formal adoption. But in some states this practice, and the practice of advertising a children online, has been made illegal in recent years.

‘I felt like a product’ Matthew Meyer is 22 years old and was born into a poor family in Ethioipa. His parents couldn’t feed him and sent him to an orphanage at the age of six. When he was 10 he was adopted by an American women. Matthew explains that after being shipped around the country that he was eventually away to a family that she met online.

“I feel like I’m just a product you know when you buy something over the internet – you just just type in – I want this merchandise – it’s like I’m a merhandise … there should be more process than that.” “After I left home I never felt that love that I felt when I was at home” After leaving the second family he lived with at the aeg of 17 Matthew now lives in a motel in Orlando, Flordia, with his girlfriend. He says he has had multiple spells in prison. He has hopes to meet his family in Ethiopia again soon.

“I wish I could come over here and then show them that I made it and give back or and make them proud.” Some adopted orphans who were “rehomed” across the internet have told Channel 4 News of the poor parenting, psychological damage and emotional abuse they sustained from families who didn’t want them or were incapable of caring for them. ‘Easier than adopting a dog’ Addy Steinhof from Wisconsin was given away online by her adopted family, though she ended up in what she says is a more positive situation after being treated badly by the mother of her first adoptive family. “I remember when they were cooking suppers I wasn’t allowed to come upstairs and eat with them and sit with them at the same table.”

She was rehomed online via an adoption forum, and her parents never explained what was happening. “They never told me ‘You’re going to this family and we’re not going to be your family.’ They never told me that in person.” Virginia State Senator Jeff McWaters is campaigning to pass a bill to stop the advertising of children on the internet, while other states have already outlawed the practice.

He says children must not be treated as a commodity. “You can’t sell someone a car without registering that car, changing the registration, turning that over in a legal process to the individual buying the car. We’ve even seen in some states where you can’t give your pet to somebody else without going through some steps and process.” “If that’s the case with cars and with pets, why shouldn’t it even more so be the case with kids.”

]]>Every year, thousands flee their country to escape war, drought or poverty. In 1996 in Somalia, Africa Reporter Jamal Osman was one of them. Here, he retraces his steps and meets those trying it now.

It was in 1996. I was a teenager. At that point, the Somalia war had been raging for several years. Fleeing from one place to another and going back and forth was the norm. By then, I had been to most of the neighbouring countries.

But this time, my plan was to go as far as I could and away from the conflict. Destination: South Africa.

At a Kenyan border town, I boarded a bus to Nairobi. Most of the passengers were Somalis. So I was in some sort of a familiar zone – yet I was on my own. A few days prior to that, I had said goodbye to my family. They had to reluctantly accept my decision. It was made out of desperation, a necessity and a desire for a better life.

I was fleeing the Somalia war, which since then has taken many twists and turns and is still going on. It has caused death and destruction to millions of innocent people. I happened to be one of those affected by the conflict, one of many confused by what was going on.

I was fleeing the Somalia war, which since then has taken many twists and turns and is still going on. It has caused death and destruction to millions of innocent people. I happened to be one of those affected by the conflict, one of many confused by what was going on.

I don’t know who to blame for our suffering: is it the late Siyad Barre regime? Is it the Somali clan system which has divided us? Is it the warlords who chased us from our homes? Is it the neighbouring countries like Ethiopia who funded and armed the clan militias that over threw the government and are still meddling in Somali politics? Is it the British, who colonised us and divided our families into different entities and countries? Is it the Americans, who, for whatever reason, seem to support anyone prepared to destabilise Somalia? I blame all of the above.

They destroyed my childhood and many others like me. To survive and support my family, I started working when I was about 12 years old. I never had a childhood. The situation forced me to flee when I did not want to leave. It forced me into foreign lands where I am not wanted. It turned me into a lifetime refugee, a stateless person.

My life has certainly improved since I came to Britain 15 years ago, but part of me is missing. Emigrating to faraway places is never a favourable choice. It is like choosing the best of bad options. Home will always remain home.

My trip to South Africa was one of several journeys I made within Somalia and to neighbouring countries in a ten-year period before I ended up in London. Other countries I sought refuge in were undoubtedly safer than Somalia, but I never felt entirely comfortable living in a foreign land. There are aspects of life that you will not experience anywhere else. The deep relationship between a human and their home country is irreplaceable. It is the familiar scenery, the unpolluted air and the surrounding sound.

Living away from home, I would miss simple things like the tranquility of hearing the Adhan, the call to prayer. It might disrupt your sleep early in the morning but it gives a sense of calmness. I would miss the morning greetings: maxaad ku barideen? I would miss seeing familiar faces wherever I go: where everybody knows you and your family; where every adult is either your uncle or aunty; where every child is somehow related to you. No strangers. I would miss the evening’s simultaneous sound of dhac, dhac, dhac. Every evening Somali families prepare canjeero, pancake for tomorrow’s breakfast.

Each time I had to leave home, I would feel homesick and then go back to it, hoping the situation would improve. Even after surviving a massacre, I was not convinced to give up life in Somalia. In the early years, life in a foreign land was not a desirable option. It took me about a decade to decide that there was no future in Somalia.

Not many migrants decide overnight to just walk away from everything they have known since birth. No-one wants to face the uncertainty that lies ahead. No-one wants to risk life itself, in the hope of a better life. It takes a long time to come to that decision, and even when you decide, you don’t just board a flight to Europe or America.

To reach somewhere desirable, it takes years of trying, travelling thousands of miles and risking it all. That’s what I did.

]]>Every year, thousands flee their country to escape war, drought or poverty. In 1996 in Somalia, Africa Reporter Jamal Osman was one of them. Here, he retraces his steps and meets those trying it now.

It was in 1996. I was a teenager. At that point, the Somalia war had been raging for several years. Fleeing from one place to another and going back and forth was the norm. By then, I had been to most of the neighbouring countries.

But this time, my plan was to go as far as I could and away from the conflict. Destination: South Africa.

At a Kenyan border town, I boarded a bus to Nairobi. Most of the passengers were Somalis. So I was in some sort of a familiar zone – yet I was on my own. A few days prior to that, I had said goodbye to my family. They had to reluctantly accept my decision. It was made out of desperation, a necessity and a desire for a better life.

I was fleeing the Somalia war, which since then has taken many twists and turns and is still going on. It has caused death and destruction to millions of innocent people. I happened to be one of those affected by the conflict, one of many confused by what was going on.

I was fleeing the Somalia war, which since then has taken many twists and turns and is still going on. It has caused death and destruction to millions of innocent people. I happened to be one of those affected by the conflict, one of many confused by what was going on.

I don’t know who to blame for our suffering: is it the late Siyad Barre regime? Is it the Somali clan system which has divided us? Is it the warlords who chased us from our homes? Is it the neighbouring countries like Ethiopia who funded and armed the clan militias that over threw the government and are still meddling in Somali politics? Is it the British, who colonised us and divided our families into different entities and countries? Is it the Americans, who, for whatever reason, seem to support anyone prepared to destabilise Somalia? I blame all of the above.

They destroyed my childhood and many others like me. To survive and support my family, I started working when I was about 12 years old. I never had a childhood. The situation forced me to flee when I did not want to leave. It forced me into foreign lands where I am not wanted. It turned me into a lifetime refugee, a stateless person.

My life has certainly improved since I came to Britain 15 years ago, but part of me is missing. Emigrating to faraway places is never a favourable choice. It is like choosing the best of bad options. Home will always remain home.

My trip to South Africa was one of several journeys I made within Somalia and to neighbouring countries in a ten-year period before I ended up in London. Other countries I sought refuge in were undoubtedly safer than Somalia, but I never felt entirely comfortable living in a foreign land. There are aspects of life that you will not experience anywhere else. The deep relationship between a human and their home country is irreplaceable. It is the familiar scenery, the unpolluted air and the surrounding sound.

Living away from home, I would miss simple things like the tranquility of hearing the Adhan, the call to prayer. It might disrupt your sleep early in the morning but it gives a sense of calmness. I would miss the morning greetings: maxaad ku barideen? I would miss seeing familiar faces wherever I go: where everybody knows you and your family; where every adult is either your uncle or aunty; where every child is somehow related to you. No strangers. I would miss the evening’s simultaneous sound of dhac, dhac, dhac. Every evening Somali families prepare canjeero, pancake for tomorrow’s breakfast.

Each time I had to leave home, I would feel homesick and then go back to it, hoping the situation would improve. Even after surviving a massacre, I was not convinced to give up life in Somalia. In the early years, life in a foreign land was not a desirable option. It took me about a decade to decide that there was no future in Somalia.

Not many migrants decide overnight to just walk away from everything they have known since birth. No-one wants to face the uncertainty that lies ahead. No-one wants to risk life itself, in the hope of a better life. It takes a long time to come to that decision, and even when you decide, you don’t just board a flight to Europe or America.

To reach somewhere desirable, it takes years of trying, travelling thousands of miles and risking it all. That’s what I did.

]]>Kibera slum is home to nearly a million people. With an average income of less than a pound a day, it is one of the poorest parts of Kenya – a poverty that is attracting western tourists.

Tourism is a money-spinner in Kenya – it is the country’s second largest source of income, writes Jamal Osman. Its safaris are world famous, but a recent drop-off in wildlife tourism has given rise to this new type of sightseeing.

Several tour operators are now offering a tour of Kibera as part of a package. As a result, slum tourism is a growing business.

I met a group of Australians who have gathered in an upmarket area of Nairobi. Visiting Kibera is part of their five-week trip through Africa.

After a short walk, we reach Kibera. Open sewage cuts through the sprawl of tin shacks. In these over crowded places, there isn’t much space to do the housework – washing and cleaning is done outdoors.

Amongst this desperate poverty, the Australian tourists look out of place. People’s lives are on display, providing ample opportunities for tourists to grab a few photos and go.

However, locals told me the new phenomenon is an intrusion to their lives and that they are being treated like animals in a zoo. They don’t welcome muzungus – meaning white people. But muzungu faces are becoming more familiar.

Walking along a train track, which runs through the slum, the Australian group were now a couple of hours into their Kibera trip. The tour takes in several local businesses.

Otieno Ngomba’s small art studio (pictured, above), is one of them. Most of the work was made for tourists to buy. but this doesn’t always happen. Often they just go in and out.

Mr Ngomba, whose work is inspired by the vibrancy of Kibera, believes tourists don’t want the full experience of life there.

“They come here and what interests them is the poverty side of it,” he told me. “So they rather have pictures of a boy next to a garbage spot, stranded dog or something like that. That suits them because that’s what they’re looking for.

“They’re not here to say ‘take me to my favourite pub’ and I show them: this is how our favourite pub looks like.”

Most locals say they don’t benefit from them. Instead, they feel they are just here to be looked at and pitied.

Twalib Juma hates being pitied. He’s a rubbish collector, born and bred in Kibera. He doesn’t like mazungus taking his photo, especially when he’s working.

“I think it’s degrading,” Twalib told me. “It’s kind of inhuman. They are just interested in the poverty of slum people; the way they are surviving and at the end of the day they give us nothing. They just take our pictures freely. They are only interested in the badness of the place.”

Oloo, another Kibera resident agrees: “These are people like other human beings. They (tourists) should go to the park there and see animals. They should tour animals there. We don’t want people to come. They are pitying us when we don’t need that.”

Despite local resentment, the man who started these tours says they are good for the community.

James Asudi, founder of Victoria Safaris, told me that the tours can encourage westerners to donate money to the area.

“Within those two to four hours, it changes the mind-set of a tourist, eventually they plough back, they send money from when they go back home,” he said.

Some local businesses see the immediate benefit of the tours. Victorious Bones Craft (pictured, above), a small bone-crafting workshop is one of the stops. They make jewellery and ornaments to sell to tourists.

The owner Jackob Nyawang said: “In Kibera, local people prioritise food so they don’t pay a lot for luxury things. So my work depends on tourists or foreigners.”

The Australian group buys a few souvenirs from the workshop. As the tour came to an end, I asked them how they felt about their visit.

“It’s little bit intruding,” admitted Stuart Robbins. “But if we are helping by buying things or telling people this happens and goes on, may be it would help. Until you see it first hand, we don’t realise the smell, we don’t realise the ground conditions and living conditions.”

Tourists like the Australians, say they want to educate themselves and don’t intend to offend anyone. But many locals do take offence. They feel their poverty is being exploited.

]]>A UK ban on khat – widely used in the Somali community – comes into force in the next few months. But there is anger in Kenya, where thousands of farmers depend on exports of the herbal stimulant.

Somali campaigners against the herbal stimulant khat are celebrating. They have invited some Conservative MPs who supported them in their fight to ban it. The ban is expected to come into force in the next few months.

But anti-khat activists have been holding victory parades since the home secretary announced khat is to be banned.

By making such decisions, Theresa May defied government scientists and some of her fellow MPs. But she became an unlikely hero of the Somali community.

Khat is used by an estimated 90,000 people in the UK, mainly Somalis. A mild stimulant, it’s blamed by many for family breakdown, unemployment and mental illness.

It’s already banned in most of the west, which has led to the UK becoming a hub for illegal trading to Europe and America.

Sophisticated operation
Known locally as “miraa”, khat comes from Meru in Kenya, and thousands of farmers depend on the UK trade. It’s one of Kenya’s main exports, worth over $100m a year. Here there is anger and fear at what the British ban will mean.

“I will never eat, my child will never go to school when miraa stop,” one of the farmers told me.

Transporting khat to the UK is a sophisticated operation. It has to be consumed fresh as it loses its effect after three days. Khat is picked in the morning, is flown to London overnight, and is in UK shops by the following lunchtime.

‘We will all suffer’
Elija Murathi has been farming khat for nearly 20 years. He is illiterate – but because of khat, his children are not. He has paid the eldest through school and university. One is now a doctor in Russia. The youngest are unlikely to have the same chance.

One of his daughters, Dainah, said: “Because of the income of miraa, I will not be able to become a doctor because I will not be able to continue my education.

“We will all suffer because that is where we get everything. We will really not go to school, and through not going to school we will be illiterate people, not able to help yourself to go from one step to another. So it means we will just be poor people.”

On Sundays, the community prays for divine intervention. Everyone will be affected. Khat makes up 80 per cent of their income. It even paid to build the church – and pays to run it. Pastor Kalinjo Kirimi remembers the reaction when they heard the news that Britain was about to ban miraa.

“In fact, almost every man and woman and child – even children who could not understand what the news was all about – we were all shocked,” he says. “I think in that day many people spent a night fasting and praying that it doesn’t happen.

“It’s like cutting a blood vessel that supplies our body with blood and expect someone to survive. So hard, extremely hard.”

Threat of direct action
The farmers may be relying on God to intervene, but the dealers have started to threaten direct action. Japhed Muroko, head of the Global Miraa Dealer Network, wants to take action.

“We can riot and we can try to force the government to accept, since it is our lifeline” he says. “Because if we accept it to be banned, it means that we are all accepting to die. So we better die fighting than waiting to die after our lifeline is being interfered with.”

The Home Office has confirmed it will go ahead with the ban, and while Somalis in the UK hope it leads to a big change in their lives, in Kenya they know it will change theirs – and they are dreading it.

]]>They chant: “We are al-Shabaab! We are al-Qaeda! We are terrorists!” In a secret location, deep in the Somali bush, I met al-Shabaab, one of the most feared al-Qaeda-affiliated organisations in the world. Around 300 newly trained fighters, who have completed a six-month course, parade in the training camp.

Al-Shabaab is the jihadist group behind the attack at the Westgate shopping mall in Kenya two months ago that left 67 people dead. The terrifying images from that attack showed al-Shabaab fighters casually walking through the mall as they shot civilians. But for al-Shabaab, the Westgate operation was a victory and is now being used to inspire new soldiers.

The latest recruits had the same military training as the Westgate attackers. At their graduation ceremony, they were rewarded with a visit from al-Shabaab’s spokesman, Sheikh Ali Dhere.

Speaking to the new recruits, Sheikh Ali Dhere said: “See what the Kenyans are facing today. Men were like you, had the same training as you, gave up their lives for God’s cause and brought huge victory for Muslims.”

‘Stop fighting us’
The men comprise young Muslims from all over the world: Arabs, Kenyans and even, I was told, some from Britain. They chanted in several languages, but I wasn’t allowed to speak to them.

The group was one of two fully armed battalions I saw during my stay. They are determined men who want to crush the western-backed Somali government in Mogadishu. The weak government is propped up by African Union troops, including Kenyan forces who invaded southern Somalia two years ago. That is why al-Shabaab regard the Westgate attack as revenge.

Sheikh Ali Dhere, the public face of the group, told me: “We have said to Kenya many times: stay away from us, leave our land, our people and stop fighting us. We warned them again and again. They refused all of that. So we decided to spill blood to send the message.

“Their women are not better than ours. Their sons are not better than ours. Their children are not better than ours. When they kill our people we kill theirs.”
Some of the new soldiers at the graduation ceremony showed off their gymnastic skills to impress Sheik Ali Dhere.

Suicide waiting list
Highly organised, these latest additions will soon decide which unit within al-Shabaab to join. They can remain regular fighters, become bomb-makers or work for the Amniyat, al-Shabaab’s security network.

But the most popular unit is the Istishhadyin unit, the suicide brigade. And believe it or not, there’s a long waiting list of several years. With months of training, only the best recruits will be accepted.

Sheikh Ali Dhere had a message for those wanting to join.

“When we fight and are martyred, we hope to be with God in paradise. What are the infidels hoping for? Nothing.”

Alternative government
Al-Shabaab has been designated as a terrorist organisation by several western nations. And after losing control of four major cities, the Islamists were thought to have been defeated. But they still control large parts of the country and see themselves as an alternative government.

I visited Bulo Burte, a key strategic crossing point on the Shabelle river. It’s an al-Shabaab stronghold.

It also happens to be the town where one of the Westgate attackers came from. The number and identities of the Westgate attackers still remains a mystery. Kenyans claim they were only four. But locals in the al-Shabaab areas suggest there were more and some are even believed to have returned to Somalia.

The spokesman said Westagte was “something that happened at the heart of their country, and they still don’t know whether the men have escaped or not and how many they were. That shows their weakness.”

‘Victory is close’
Unlike other parts of southern and central Somalia, there’s peace under al-Shabaab’s strict sharia law. Women do go to school and are allowed to run their own businesses.

I followed the Hizbat, the al-Shabaab police, on their beat. The first stop was a restaurant, where they told the female owner to remove the rubbish from outside. They then made their way to the local hospital, where they checked the pharmacy and the cleanliness of the rooms. They seem satisfied. Our final stop was a mini supermarket where they checked product expiry dates.

But as soon as they heard the call to prayer, everything stopped. People headed to the mosque for midday prayer, whether they liked it or not. The al-Shabaab police made sure that everyone went to the mosque. Passing vehicles are pulled over.

The mosque quickly fills up, with some having to pray outside in the heat. It’s a good opportunity for Sheikh Ali Dhere – this time in civilian clothes – to drum up more support.

“It’s you who are meant to deal with the infidels,” he tells the congregation. “It’s you who should defend Islam. God willing, we’ll be victorious. Victory is close. The infidels haven’t got much left. They are in the eleventh hour.”

]]>Living in a tin shack by the roadside, Abdullahi is isolated, barely washed and poorly fed. For the last 17 years he has been chained up by his own family in Hargeisa, Somaliland.

He spends most of his days watching the world moving before him – placing his chest on a cemented floor, his elbows supporting his hands under his chin.

In all those years he’s been there, Abdullahi watched children who were born during his chained-life become adults. The whole neighbourhood is built up. The sun rises and sets over him. His best companions are family-owned goats, who are free to move around.

‘Evil spirits’

In Somalia, thousands of people who are mentally ill like Abdullahi face a similar fate. According to the UN, one in three Somalis suffers from some form of mental illness.

Decades of war, poverty and unemployment are some of the reasons. There aren’t enough doctors and nurses to treat such patients. Aid organisations are all over the country but there is very little interest in this sector.

Abdullahi’s childhood was just like any other Somali boy growing up. He attended school and started working as a builder in his teens. He was dreaming of becoming a businessman until his life was put on hold at the age of 26.

“He used to love school,” Abdullahi’s mother, Nimo Yusuf, told me. “He loved and respected his parents. He’d call us ‘Mummy and Daddy’. He still does, even now. He never swore or cursed.”

Nimo remembers vividly the day he fell ill. She said: “One morning he left for work and came home in the evening saying he felt unwell. Then I recalled that people used to say that evil spirits could do this. And I thought they have done it to him. Since that day he’s never been the same.”

Traditional healers
Nimo is the family’s breadwinner. She leaves in the morning to sell fruit and vegetables at the local market and comes back in the evening with some food for the family.

This very poor family tried to treat him – not through medical doctors but through traditional healers, known as Cilaaj. It is the most popular treatment for the mentally ill in Somalia.

Abdullahi was once taken to Sheikh Boon’s Cilaaj in Hargeisa. This centre is moderate compared to others that use electrocution, beatings and other forms of practices as part of the treatment. Some patients die. It’s a thriving industry, yet unregulated.

The sheikh claims that many of his clients are from the diaspora community. Some travel to see him but also he regularly holds sessions through Skype.

A former maths teacher, he prescribes verses from the Quran for patients. They go into a room nearby where a group of men read the Quran loudly through cardboard tubes. Patients sniff foul smelling herbs to force the evil spirit or Jinn out of the patient’s body.

“When we realise Jinn is inside the body of the patient we read the Quran until it runs away from the body of the patient,” said, Sheikh Boon.

‘Mad man’

But it didn’t work on Abdullahi. He is still in his tin hut in all weathers. There is no protection whether it’s hot, rainy or windy. His father Yusuf Jama, who is 83 years old, looks after him for most of the time.

“He’s chained up all the time,” Mr Jama told me. “We alternate the leg that will be chained: first, this leg and then the other. Also we have to tighten the screw because he can break the lock.

“We can’t trust him. For me the biggest worry is that he could go missing or be killed by the children.”

Children from the neighbourhood shout “the mad man” as they pass by Abdullahi. Sometimes they throw rocks at him. His father is, at least, protecting him from these children. Abdullahi’s brothers are around occasionally.

He asked his younger brother Abdulkarim if he could borrow his mobile phone so he could listen to music and the song Bulshayahay ma nabadbaa came on.

It is about a man who is returning to his country after being in exile. It brought tears to Abdullahi’s eyes especially these lines (translated into English):

We have been apart for a while

I have longed for you like dry scalp craves for oil

Greetings O, people, greetings!

It was as if he was craving to be given the chance to come back into society.

We told Maryan Hassan, who is one of 20 psychiatric nurses in the whole country, about Abdullahi’s desperate situation. She works at Macruuf Relief Organisation, a private mental health clinic.

‘Free man’

Maryan agreed to assess Abdullahi and if possible offer him a free place for three months. We took her to Abdullahi’s little hut. After greeting the family and asking about Abdullahi, she told him the good news.

“Abdullahi, if we unchain you, what do you think about that? Are you going to come with us?” she asked.

“Yes, I’m going to come with you,” replied, Abdullahi.

Cutting the rusty chain took a long time but his brothers eventually managed to release him.

On arrival, he was quickly washed, given clean clothes, his nails cut and his head shaved. With kindness and a proper medical examination, Abdullahi looked different. He was given medication to treat psychosis.

As we were leaving, Maryan told Abdullahi: “Now you are a free man. When you wake up in the morning you have to brush your teeth, go to the toilet, you’ll watch TV and take your medicine. Things have changed for you.”

Abdullahi was lucky, but there are hundreds of thousands of mentally ill Somalis who are in desperate need of help. Abdullahi will be in the clinic for at least three months. We hope to see him well.

]]>The arson attack on the al-Rahma community centre in north London – blamed on the EDL – has left local Somalis and their children deeply affected. Will the area and its people ever recover?

It was around 4am in the early morning of 5 June when Abubakar Ali’s door was knocked by someone calling his name, writes Channel 4 News reporter Jamal Osman. Abubakar knew it wasn’t going to be good news. And he was right. His brother Omar gave the bad news: “The community centre is on fire.”

“It was one of the biggest shocks in my life,” Abubakar told me.

Last month the al-Rahma Centre, a Somali community project in Muswell Hill, north London, was burned down in what appear to be an Islamaphobic attack.

The place was used by hundreds of people from the area, especially children. It offered after-school activates, academic and Islamic studies. For many of the children, they regarded it as their second home.

Abubakar established the Somali community project 20 years ago. Since then, it has been serving his people. It’s not the first time the community centre was attacked.

Windows smashed
The place had its windows smashed in after the 7/7 London bombing and it was ransacked around the 11 September anniversary, two years ago. This time, however, the building has been devastated.

“The building can be rebuilt,” said Abubakar. “But the life of our children and the shock is still there.”

When I spoke to most of the parents, they said their children are in a shock. A child of around seven said: “I’m depressed.” I asked why, and he said: “I don’t know.

“I just sit alone and think about it, why they wanted to burn, destroy our lives.”

Attacks against Muslims have gone up quite significantly since the brutal killing of Drummer Lee Rigby in Woolwich almost seven weeks ago.

EDL under suspicion
The police are still investigating the fire that destroyed the building. But the suspicion is that English Defence League members were behind the attack, after EDL graffiti was discovered on the building.

And it’s the link to the far-right group that’s making the community fearful.

Dahabo Ahmed has been using the centre for a long time and is worried for her kids. Idris, nine, and Ebyan, 11, loved going to the al-Rahma centre. They used to do lots of activities there and get help with their homework. Now Dahabo has to help them by herself and deal with the trauma.

“I’m very scared,” Idris told me. “They may burn other mosques and schools.”

Abubakar called a meeting to reassure the parents. He told them the local authorities are offering counselling to the children.

To boost the morale of the community, he showed parents a video from fellow Somalis living in Canada who tell them they feel their pain. Closer to home, letters from children at a local Jewish school were read out.

Jewish community ‘very supportive’
One read: “We were so sorry to hear about this terrible tragedy. We wish you all the best in rebuilding your community.”

Abubakar told me the Jewish community has been very supportive, especially Rabbi David Mason, who organised a multi-faith walk to show their support.

Rabbi Mason said: “I organised this because I believe this was the time when we needed to get together to do this (walk). It was a moment to show faith groups can come together, irrespective of our differences.”

The “solidarity walk” ended at the ruins of the al-Rahma centre – still a crime scene. It was also an opportunity for the locals from all faiths to get to know each other.

Abubakar was overwhelmed by the solidarity: “For me, it shows we have a community behind us. A community that’s feeling our suffering and showed we are not alone.”

He has been given a temporary office with two computers in the local library and he is now starting to reorganise some activities. A number of local schools, churches and synagogues are also offering temporary places, so at least, they can keep the children together.

The al-Rahma centre holds an annual ceremony to celebrate students’ achievements. It’s one of the biggest events for the parents and their children. They almost gave up this year, fearing they might be targeted. But they decided not to give in to whoever destroyed their centre.

Abubakar thought it would be “impossible” to realise it, but with the help of the local authority, who gave them an alternative venues, and the police, who reassured them of their safety, they have managed to do it.

On the day, every enjoyed the event. But the children are waiting for answers on who destroyed their second home. For now, the centre remains a crime scene – their playground is a no-go zone. But there are hopes that one day life will be normal again.

]]>A money transfer system allowing UK families to send cash back home is under threat after Barclays said it wouldn’t do business with transfer firms. I report on the problem facing Somalia.

Hawa Abdulle, a Somali mother, her children and their extended family members are able to eat a simple meal thanks to family members who live in Britain. Millions of Somalis depend on money sent to them by relatives living abroad.

In fact, money transfers are the backbone of the Somali economy. British-Somalis send up to £100m every year and for their relatives back home, it makes up 60 per cent of their annual income.

But word has reached Somalia that because of a decision by British banks, this crucial pipeline is about to be cut off.

“We have heard the British are stopping our money,” Ms Abdulle told us. “We depend on this little money that our relatives send us. We request the British, please do not stop this money coming. We don’t have any other income to pay for our children’s school, rent or anything else.”

From their office on the streets of Mogadishu to their base here in London, Somali money transfer firms, locally known as Hawalas, is how the society stays connected.

Under pressure
Hawalas have already been under pressure especially since the US terrorist attack on 11 September, 2001. Western governments have introduced many rules and regulations to control the flow of money. British authorities have access to Hawalas’s database and monitor how much money people send. And if they are suspicious about certain transactions they often call for an interview.

Like many immigrants, I go into one of the Hawala shops to send money to my family back home. It’s fast, reliable and the only legal way to make sure my relatives can eat, send children to school and get basic medical assistances.

But time is running out for the Hawalas we use to transfer money to Somalia. These companies deposit our money into their British bank accounts. Most of the London-based banks have already stopped dealing with Hawalas. Barclays was the last one to do it.

‘Underground’ threat
Now Barclays has written to Dahabshil, the largest Hawala in Somalia, and hundreds of companies like it telling them from next month, their accounts will be closed. And without British bank accounts these businesses won’t be able to operate legally.

Abdirashid Duale, chief executive of Dahabshiil said: “We have a 15-year relationship with Barclays. As far as the account closure, we just received a letter which has been a surprise to us… This kind of action will go opposite of what the banks are trying to do.

“If they are talking about money laundering and system, the closure of these accounts will lead to people going underground and sending money illegally. And I don’t think that is the interest of the UK or Barclays or the humanitarian situation that needs to be addressed.”

‘Criminal activity’
However Barclays is concerned that criminals and terrorists could use the existing system. In a statement, their spokesman said: “It is recognised that some money service businesses don’t have the proper checks in place to spot criminal activity and could therefore unwittingly be facilitating money laundering and terrorist financing.

“We want to be confident that our customers can filter out those transactions…we regret the inconvenience that moving to another bank will cause. To assist customers find alternative banking services, we have given them double the normally permitted time, and will extend that where it is appropriate to do so.”

Somali activists, who are angry about the decision made by Barclays have set up a petition calling on the government to intervene and to recognises the important role that remittances play in supporting the economy and people of Somalia. On Monday, the Foreign Office convened a meeting to consider in detail the issue of remittances to Somalia, which was also attended by the Home Office, the HMRC, the Serious Organised Crime Agency and the department for international development.

A foreign office spokesperson told us: “officials are preparing an assessment of the impact on the economy and people of Somalia of Barclays’ decision to terminate banking services for a large number of money service businesses.”

In Somalia, this industry is seen as the only successs story and a lifeline for millions. But later on Barclays told Channel 4 News it has now decided it will extend the deadline for some companies including Dahabshil. This will give some hope to millions of people but unless Somali companies find an alternative bank, a crisis may still be on the horizon.